Recently I had the worst nightmare of my life. After waking up in a panic I recounted the dream in a 2:30 am phone call to my significant other. Several factors contributed to the level of mental torture of the dream, but he stopped me cold at one part. I recounted being in an outdoor space wearing a short skirt. The wind was so extreme that no matter how hard I tried to keep my skirt down I failed. I turned and saw myself exposed to several gleeful old men making lascivious comments and stares in my direction.
"Why were you so scared of that," he asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well you must have some experience with old dudes that made you that uncomfortable in your dream?"
It was 2003. I was ready to be done with 4th grade. I had turned 10 not too long ago. My dad, brother, and I all had to run to the only grocery store in town. Whenever we went to grocery stores my brother, then 16, and I had a habit of wandering off on our own together. Who could be bothered to watch a parent debate ketchup vs. catsup when there was candy to be drooled over and magazines to be ogled? After finding ourselves satisfied with learning the upcoming Playstation 2 releases in the magazine aisle we decided to hunt down our dad.
We strolled up and down the aisles, normally more than happy to take our time in our pursuit of our father. I did feel slightly more pressed for time that day though. As we pulled into the store's parking lot I noticed my favorite shirt I had decided to wear had a large hole at the collar bone. Rather then deal like most people would choose to, me being the child I was walked around the store with my hand awkwardly covering the hole. While awkward and dramatic, it could be argued that there was something almost couture in my embarrassed posing.
As my brother and I journeyed up the aisle with the canned beans together we were suddenly stopped.
"Hey, little girl."
I turned to see a man who appeared to be approaching 70.
"What are you covering up over there? You trying to hide something from me? I can't see?"
I froze. At my elementary school they had talked to us a lot about stranger danger. How there are bad people in the world who want to steal children. They didn't tell us why, for obvious reasons, just how to potentially spot them. Was this what was happening? Was I going to be stolen? My mind held no concept of a paedophile, sexual harassment, or an abuser; but I knew that I was afraid. I could tell I was in the presence of a bad man.
"We need to go." My brother, forever the older and more grounded one said to me, and we MOVED.
We quickly found my dad and my brother recounted everything.
"We need to go." My brother's words played back, this time from my dad's mouth. We wrapped things up quickly and got back to the car.
"I want to punch that sick son of a bitch!" My dad, who was never any stranger to profanity or intensity of emotion claimed.
"I know, me too," the calmer voice of my brother.
That was the only time I'd seen them agree on anything outside of who should win American Idol, or where to find the best barbecue. It would come to pass that I would have encounters with the old man not once, but twice more in my time living in my hometown. Once again at age 12 in the movie rental place when I was with my best friend at the time's family. He asked if either me or my friend would be his grandson's child bride. After we laughed and called him a creep, but there was a dark undertone to our laughter. Then again at the grocery store with my dad and brother. My brother recognized him and got me away from him immediately.
I would like to say that this situation was minor. I would like to say it counts towards nothing because I was a child, and when you are a child things can slip your mind so easily. The problem is when you are a child the things that don't just slip away latch onto your psyche with such a ferocity that you find yourself crying into your phone at 2:30 am because you had another nightmare.
